


As Thou Wast Wont To Be

by InkTheatre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Asexual Castiel, Asexual Character, Asexuality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkTheatre/pseuds/InkTheatre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College Theatre AU. Following opening night, stage manager Castiel finds himself attending the cast party for the first time... ever. And it's all Dean Winchester's fault.  Written for Ace and Aro August on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Thou Wast Wont To Be

It was difficult to say who was more surprised by Castiel’s appearance at the cast party of Midsummer, the cast and crew or Castiel himself. He had always been invited in the past, but never before gone, much happier to excuse himself on the grounds of performance reports and performance calls and post-performance duties, locking up the theatre and arriving early the next day, and so on. At this point, he was fairly certain they only continued to invite him out of a misplaced sense of loyalty and formality - they certainly never seemed to miss him at such events, and he didn’t miss seeing the various things they got up to, from what the stories said. So he really wasn’t sure why he was there this time.

Only, that was a lie, as he knew exactly why, and the fault, unsurprisingly, lay with Dean Winchester.

He’d had no intentions of going, as always, but it was Dean who had ambushed him in the stage manager’s office after the performance and, after congratulating him on the show, had asked if he would be there.

He’d intended to explain that no, he was far too busy, and would need to get rest before the next performance, but what had actually come out of his mouth was a vague “I don’t know” that Dean had somehow managed to turn into a promise to stop by when his work was finished. And even though Dean had left after, and it would have been easy enough to simply apologize the next day for not making it to the party after all, when the report was done and sent out, and the performance call for the next day emailed and posted, when he finally got back to his car, instead of driving the few minutes to his apartment off campus, he found himself following the hastily written directions to the house where it seemed the majority of the cast, and a few of the older crew members, had all gathered for the night.

The party had been in full swing by the time he got there, the music from the other room an odd mix of showtunes and modern pop that he didn’t pay too close attention to as he tried to inconspicuously make his way in. He was doing fairly well, escaping with a few vague pleasantries and congratulations up until he stopped to get a cup of pop, to give his hands something to do if nothing else.

“Well, well, well. Can it actually be? Didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Clarence.” Meg leaned against the table beside him, reaching past him to grab a half-empty bottle of rum, eyeing his cup skeptically. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say I shouldn’t worry about offering this to you when I’m done?”

“No, thank you,” he responded immediately, though no less politely. Just in case, he picked up his cup, cradling it to his chest almost protectively, making her laugh.

“Relax, no one’s going to waste the good stuff on you if you don’t want it. Though I think you might trick a lot of people into thinking they’re way drunker than they are just by being here. So what gives?” He raised an eyebrow, the gears in his head turning very quickly. He didn’t exactly have a good answer to that.

“Perhaps not a bad thing, I find that shows tend to go better when the cast isn’t primarily hung over. Or the crew for that matter,” he added, hedging, casting a slightly skeptical glance at her cup in deflection.

“Relax, you know I could do this in my sleep if I had to, and besides, I’ve got a plenty high tolerance. Have to around this crowd, if you want to still be around to see when it gets to the fun stuff.” She smirked and took a long drink from her cup. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided my question. Which makes me think the answer has to be something really good.”

“I wanted to come.”

“Right. And Charlie’s suddenly turned totally straight and not harboring a massive crush on whichever actress is playing Galinda in Wicked this month.”

“Jenni Barber now, I believe,” he remarked offhandedly, deliberately choosing to be obtuse. It was a strategy that usually suited him well, and at least got an amused snort from Meg.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that, Novak?”

“So you are fond of reminding me.”

“Someone’s got to.” Smirking, Meg went back to her drink, and for a moment, Castiel thought he had almost escaped. “So this has got nothing to do with our lovely dramaturg’s dear older brother, then?” He was suddenly very glad that a, it was dark so no one could see his ears turning red, and b, he had not chosen to follow her example and take a sip of his own drink before she asked that, though he did so quickly then.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied stiffly.

“Uh huh. You do know that anyone on headset could basically hear you two flirting during the entirety of tech, right?”

“Meg.”

“I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure there’s a betting pool by this point. Lots of people cheering you two idiots on.”

“Meg.” He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, falling back on his stage manager’s voice instead.

“I’m just saying, you showing up at any kind of social event that isn’t department mandated is sort of like finding a unicorn.” Still smirking, she crossed her arms, cup half empty already and clasped in one hand. “And it’s not too hard to figure out what’s changed between the last four shows and this one.” He didn’t have a response to that besides a dark frown that he hid behind his cup, bringing it back up to his mouth and looking away. When he brought the cup back down, he was alarmed to find that her attention hadn’t wavered at all, and if anything, had intensified. “You’re actually pretty gone on the guy, aren’t you?”

“Meg,” he said, for a third time, though this time it came out far more uncertain and hesitant than he’d intended.

“Who would have thought we’d see the day,” she continued musing, as though he’d never interrupted. She was still smirking as her gaze flicked away over the crowd, but it was a different look than before, smaller and almost more genuine, for a fraction of a second before it grew back to an expression both clever and dangerous at the sight of… something… behind him. “Huh. Well, good luck with that Clarence. I’m going to go find some people significantly more smashed, and therefore, more entertaining.” Eyes flashing mischievously, she leaned in and kissed his cheek before sauntering past. He barely flinched at the casual gesture (or at least, what passed for casual among this particular group of people; he maintained no delusions that all people were so comfortable with such platonic expressions of affections as theatre people) but felt his forehead furrow in confusion to have it directed such at him. “Hey, Winchester.”

“Hey Meg,” he heard Dean’s voice from behind him, “good show tonight.” There was the sound of plastic cups knocking together - some sort of informal cheers, he assumed - before there was an arm slung around his shoulder. He hoped Dean couldn’t see his sudden white knuckled grip on his own cup. “Cas, man, you made it! Wasn’t sure you weren’t going to back out on me.”

“Well, I did promise,” he muttered, looking down at his cup in exasperation - at himself, really, for making said promise. It was made better, however, when Dean just chuckled.

“That you did. Hey, did Meg just call you Clarence?” He still didn’t look up, sure that he could perfectly visualize the expression on Dean’s face just from the sound of his voice. Amused, cheeks and the tips of his ears most likely flushed faintly red from alcohol and the warmth of so many people in such a small place that fans and cheap A.C. could not combat, one eyebrow lifted in curiosity, a quirk to his smile. “What’s that all about?” A quick glance up confirmed that yes, that was exactly how Dean was looking at him, expectant now - except that he hadn’t quite imagined the bright shine in Dean’s eyes in this lighting correctly, and he could still see his freckles and - he cleared his throat and shifted, breathing coming a bit easier as Dean’s arm fell away, though it left him no choice to but to stand facing him and his easy grin.

“It was a reference to the first production I worked on as stage manager here,” he explained. “We did It’s a Wonderful Life last winter, and it was… a challenging production, to say the least. Evidentially it was a sentiment held, jokingly of course, among some of the cast and crew that, much like Clarence was sent to be George’s guardian angel and keep him from dying, I must have been sent to earn my, er, ‘stage management wings’,” he said with a wry smile, and the best attempt at air quotes he could make while still holding a nearly full cup of pop, “by keeping the production alive. As it was also the first production I worked on with Meg, I believe the nickname just… stuck.”

“Probably ‘cause you’re such an angel,” Dean teased, grinning down the few inches of their height difference in a way that made him feel both tiny and as large as the room itself. “Nah, that’s cool, though. I mean, I don’t really do a lot of this theatre stuff, but if that show was anything like this one-”

“Worse,” he cut in immediately.

“-seriously? Damn. Well, in that case then damn, I don’t doubt it. I’ve got no idea how you do all that shit, it’s intense.”

“Yes, it is.” The blunt remark seemed to catch Dean by surprise; he blinked once before laughing.

“No modesty there, huh?”

“It isn’t that. But I see no sense in lying either; many people say that they don’t believe they could ever be a stage manager and I believe they are correct. It is a very demanding and challenging job, and not everyone is suited to it, just as not everyone would be suited to designing costumes or directing a show or acting. That you think I have done well at my job, I take as a compliment, but I will not downplay the importance of the role I play either. It is, as you say, intense. Very.” He did not trail off, but he did hesitate, choosing not to continue upon seeing the look on Dean’s face, which seemed openly… were he to choose a word for it, the first that came to mind was awed, but surely that couldn’t be correct?

“Damn,” Dean piped up, seemingly once he was sure that Castiel was done speaking. “You are something else, Cas.” He shook his head, and seemed about to say something else when the music from the next room over changed into some indistinguishable pop song that everyone else seemed to recognize, as there was lots of yelling and cheering and a large number of people suddenly singing along. He couldn’t help but smile at the sudden surprise on Dean’s face as he looked around, taking in the interruption, before his shoulder shook slightly in what Castiel assumed was laughter. “Any chance you want to find somewhere quieter to go?” he asked, speaking loudly over the sounds of everyone else. 

The internal debate Castiel held with himself was relatively brief - his desire for a quieter space had already almost made it a guarantee, and he could not lie that he didn’t wish to keep talking to Dean as well. Rather than try to answer verbally, he just nodded. Shooting him a thumbs up, Dean angled his body towards the doorway opposite that of where the music was coming from, waving his free hand to indicate that Castiel should follow him.

Once they had put a small amount of distance between themselves and the speakers, the volume was thankfully back to a manageable level, able to be spoken over without excessive strain, and so Dean picked up the conversation as though it had never left off.

“Seriously, though, I don’t know how you put up with Lucas. That guy’s such a dick, I wanted to punch him by the end of tech.”

“I’m certain you were not alone in that sentiment.” Castiel shook his head slightly, the hint of a smile creeping into his expression. “There is a reason the vast majority of the department more commonly refers to him as the devil’s lighting designer, after all. Or more commonly just Lucifer himself.” He looked over in alarm as Dean spluttered and choked on the mouthful of his drink that he had apparently been about to swallow at that statement. He stepped forward quickly, only stopping when Dean waved his free hand at him as he caught his breath, now simply laughing.

“Shit, Cas, warn me when you’re going to say stuff like that.” Half doubled over, the grin he turned his head to shoot him sent the butterflies he was desperately trying to ignore in the pit of his stomach into an uneasy frenzy. “Lucifer. Awesome.”

“I apologize, I did not realize that it would come as such a revelation to you.” He tried repressing the faint smile that he could still feel poking through. “I’m glad you find it apt, although I cannot take credit for the idea. I believe that dubious honor lies with Gabriel and Balthazar.”

“Figures,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head and pushing himself into a standing position once more. “That’s more up their alley anyway, your sense of humor is way more subtle.”

“Perhaps too subtle, given that I believe there are a fair number of people who would tell you I don’t possess one.”

“Eh, they just don’t know what they’re missing.” Shooting Castiel another butterfly-inducing grin, he nodded off to the side before setting off again. Speechless, he followed along without much conscious thought, pulled along as if by a force of gravity, holding him in Dean’s orbit.

He was caught off guard when Dean abruptly turned into the alcove below the staircase to the upstairs, which was currently unoccupied, and was evidentially his final destination, as he came to a sudden stop, such that Castiel nearly ran into him, save for a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Cas.” He froze, unable to really comprehend anything but the easy grin levelled on him like a potent weapon against his sensibilities, the freckles he could still see smattered across his skin even in the half lit environment, the sparkle of jade in his eyes as his head shifted just so - “Hey, man, personal space,” Dean teased, startling Castiel into realize he was starting to wax poetic and this was post-show fatigue setting in, his brain was shutting down, because there was no other (acceptable) explanation for that behavior. Stammering, he apologized, almost stumbling back in his haste to correct, but he was caught up by Dean’s hand, still warm on his shoulder for a moment, before it moved with quick reflexes to catch his elbow, steadying him.

“I apologize, I-”

“Cas, it’s cool. Just joking with you.”

“Right. Of course,” he agreed without any real actual agreement, stuck in his train of thought powered by panic. Dean, however, sent him a look that said he clearly wasn’t fooled.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, really.” He forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath in through his nose to center himself, but that only served to help him isolate the warm scent that he associated with Dean, after long hours side by side in tech, something like the heat of metal in motion that he assumed lingered from the mechanic’s that he spoke of working at, sharpness tempered by the faint earthy smell that had to simply be Dean himself, exaggerated now by the warm room and their close proximity. All of which crossed his mind in a split second yet still nearly overwhelmed the thoughts he had been trying to gather. “It’s just been a long week, and I’m a bit tired is all. It's nothing."

There was a tense, breathless, seemingly endless moment where all he could see was the slight furrow of Dean's forehead, the crease just between his eyebrows, and he thought for a moment about the fact that no number of theatre classes could ever make him an actor given how bad he was at lying - even if that hadn’t been entirely a lie - but then the tension mostly vanished and Dean shook his head. 

"Can't say I'm surprised, you've been working your ass off for this thing. Obviously paid off, but still, you've got to learn to relax." Castiel couldn’t help but smile - knowingly or not, Dean's voice had slipped into the particular cadence he'd only ever heard him use with Sam once or twice, at the end of the long nights of tech. He had to believe that was the source of the exasperated fondness in the tone, the almost familiarity with which he says it, as though they know each other from more than just longwinded production meetings, emailed notes in rehearsal reports, and a week and a half of sitting side by side at a table in the dark, making theatre. He ducked his head apologetically, to hide both the smile and the slight flush that attempted to appear on his cheeks as well. But that was just because it was nice to know that someone else cared, it had nothing to do with who. "Please tell me you at least get a break now that the show's open?"

“I suppose you could say that, although not particularly.” This, at least, was a familiar topic, easy to discuss and explain, about the rest of the performances and what would happen now that the show was in performance; Dean was curious, still very much an outsider to the theatre world, though it was clear listening to him that he seemed to have caught some of the bug. At any rate, he reacted appropriately (in Castiel’s eyes) to the realization that everything they had done was for only four more performances of the show ("It just doesn't seem right to do all that work for so little!" he argued) and was happy to contribute to the discussion of what would happen when the show ended and the cast and crew reconvened during strike ("I'm just saying, I'd much rather be doing shit with my hands than cleaning a fridge out." "Technically, that is also doing something with your hands." "Shut up, you knew what I meant, real work." "I'll be sure to tell your brother you said so, given that he has offered me his assistance already." "Sucker.")

From there, it was natural to segue into a discussion of the department and theatre in general; Castiel couldn’t resist sharing a story or two of opening nights that went far less smoothly (such as the time an automated platform nearly fell onto the cast dog that had gotten free of his leash and chosen to run unprompted across the stage), and in exchange, Dean told him about some of his mishaps working with a few of the small bands in the area. His long term retention of the details of the stories was surprisingly poor, as he found himself caught up more in the delivery of them, the expressive manner in which Dean spoke. It surprised him how different it was, listening to him speak - surrounded by actors so frequently, Castiel was accustomed to the passion with which they spoke, the exuberance and enthusiasm, but while theirs was honed and polished by years of training, Dean’s was natural, stumbling over words and laughing at the humor in his own stories before he got to the punchline. It was impossible not to be caught up in it with him.

“- I mean, the guy’s gotta be a foot shorter than I am,” he was laughing at the moment, “and I get that I’m taller than a lot of guys but he can’t be more than maybe five two and he still - still! - doesn’t trust me to so much as touch his damn amps, let alone carry them. Honestly, it’s ridiculous, he looks like an idiot lugging the things around while I’m standing by getting paid to apparently do nothing. Why you’d go to the trouble of hiring a sound tech and then not let him do his job beats me but hell if I’m complaining. At least their music’s decent, and the rest of the band members are solid, it’s just the one guy who’s a diva. Man, I’d love to drag his ass here, he’d probably have a fit watching Jo running around doing her thing.” Castiel chuckled softly at that as he pictured it, only noticing a moment later that Dean seemed to have stopped, staring at him with a small grin.

“What?” he asked, his own smile still half there, bemused and slightly self conscious, even as Dean shook his head, looking down at his feet with a quiet chuckle.

“Nah, it’s nothing.” Castiel waited a moment, but when it became clear that Dean had no intention of sharing whatever thought had caught his mind, he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. Whatever it was, he was certainly under no obligation to share.

“Yet, he continues to hire you?” Catching Dean’s startled look, he realized that he had picked the previous conversation back up with no real warning. “The… diva,” he clarified, deadpan, hoping to make Dean laugh, which it did.

“Yeah, yeah, he does, couple times a month. Beats me, but like I said, not complaining. Music’s pretty good and it’s an easy enough job; show up at the bar, help the rest of ‘em set up, wait until they distract him so I can make sure his amps aren’t going to blow all our ears out, hook up the sound board and run it for a couple of hours. Not a bad second gig to have.”

“You seem to enjoy it,” he observed, smiling a bit. Much to his surprise, Dean seemed to blush slightly.

“I guess. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like working at the shop, a lot. But there’s something about being able to go out and spend a couple of hours getting paid to set some levels, hang out, make sure shit doesn’t go wrong, maybe have a beer… I’m sure there’s tons of people who can do it better, but.”

“Your design for this show was very well done,” Castiel interrupted, quickly, something he rarely did, catching both of them by surprise. “Particularly for someone with no former theatrical training, it was very impressive. I’ve no doubt that your other work is anything less.” He watched as several emotions flickered across Dean’s face all at once, too quickly to properly identify any but the one that ultimately settled in place, which could only be embarrassment.

“Easy to say now, without actually seeing, or, I guess, listening to them play.”

“I’m fairly certain I would still be correct,” he challenged, raising an eyebrow, only to grow even more confused when that seemed to make Dean nervous.

“Yeah, well, you could always find out. If you wanted to… our next gig’s next Friday night if you wanted to come.” Before Castiel could even really consider telling him that it sounded enjoyable, Dean managed to catch his gaze, looking away for a second before hesitantly looking back, and all the words in his mind evaporated, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest at the wary hopefulness in his eyes, in stark contrast to his overly casual tone. “Actually, I was going say… They won’t even start until about 8, so if you wanted, maybe we could grab dinner before? There’s a pretty good burger joint nearby, or if you just wanted to get to The Roadhouse early, they’ve got a pretty good dinner menu…”

If Dean said more after that, it came across in a blur of white noise, Castiel’s brain too caught up in trying to wrap itself around what it had heard. “I… you’re asking me out on a date.” He’d meant it to be more of a question, but really, there was no doubt in his mind that was what Dean was doing. It was more a question of convincing himself to believe it was actually happening.

“Yeah.” Dean looked slightly relieved, and then less so; it occurred to Castiel that it was likely because all he could do was stare. “Yeah, I am… If you want. I mean, if you’re interested.” And he did try, to make his mouth work, to say something, but it was as though everything had shut down in the face of two clashing trains of thought. He didn’t know what his face might show, but whatever it was, he watched as Dean’s face fell somewhat more. “Which, you might not be. It’s cool, I get that… it’s, you know, that’s alright. You’re still in school and, hell, I barely even graduated high school, not to mention that Sam’s my brother and that’s probably weird, and-”

The guilt was finally enough to overwhelm the stunned silence he had fallen into, and he took a slight step forward, towards Dean. It was his turn to be startled, his words dying mid-sentence. “Dean,” he said, softly, his turn to be cautious. “I apologize, I was just… surprised.” He glanced up, nervous, both surprised and pleased to find that Dean’s gaze turned immediately from his hand to his face.

“What, never had a guy ask you out on a date before?” He knew that Dean was trying for levity, could see that he was still uncertain, but he couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on his cheeks, nor could he turn his face away quite fast enough. “Shit, you haven’t - damn. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to tease or anything, I just didn’t realize… but seriously? Not even - no one?”

He shook his head no, smiling ever so slightly despite himself; Dean sounded indignant, on his behalf, a welcome change. But it slipped away again as he studied his feet, easier to speak down to them. “Not in so many words, no. It may have somehow escaped your notice this evening but outside of rehearsals and performances, my social skills aren’t the strongest.”

“So you’re kind of quirky. Nothing wrong with that. Like I said earlier, it’s their loss.” 

“More than just that,” he cut Dean off, the words coming faster now that he had started speaking, started to air the worries that had burrowed in his chest. “As a stage manager, I am perpetually busy; my highest priority is to my craft, and it leaves very little time for an outstanding social life when combined with my other courses, let alone any additional conflicts such as employment. And I don’t understand many of the common aspects of relationships… flirting, for example.”

“I don’t know, you’ve been doing fine tonight,” Dean teased, slowly beginning to sound more at ease, but Castiel shook his head more vigorously.

“It was unintentional.” A second too late, he realized the unfortunate implications, and stumbled over his own words in his haste to correct them. “That is, it wasn’t, I didn’t mean to, I just-”

There were suddenly two warm hands on his upper arms, two thumbs brushing over his shoulders, and he flinched. Dean, however, didn’t let go. “Woah, hey, just - take it easy, okay? Breathe.” He did so, relaxing somewhat as Dean continued speaking. “Look, you can say no if you’re just not interested, it’s cool, okay? You don’t owe me a reason or anything, you know. But if you are, I mean… nothing you’ve said so far isn’t something we can work with, and it’s just one date, I’m not, I dunno, asking for anything long term yet - uh, or at all, or anything like that.” There was a brief moment of silence in which he risked a glance at Dean, who was staring resolutely up at the ceiling in what he suspected was likely his own embarrassment. “The point is, just… if there’s something else-”

“I am asexual, Dean.” 

The words hung in between them, in the bubble of space that seemed to exclude anything but the two of them, in that moment, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting, wondering what his reaction would be, if he would even -

“Okay.”

Suffice it to say, of any reaction he had expect, that had not been one of them. Startled, he looked up at Dean, who was looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

“Are you - I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, are you sex-repulsed too, or aromantic, or…” He trailed off in confusion, his expression most likely mirroring Castiel’s own. “What?”

“I don’t…”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything, I just figured, if that’s what you’re nervous about, then- Okay, seriously, you’re doing that staring thing again. What’s up, Cas?”

“This is not what I expected.”

“No kidding.” He frowned a bit, which only seemed to make Dean’s slight grin grow. “What? Sammy’s ace too, remember? So when he came out a few years ago, I looked into it, did some research… guess the nerd rubbed off on me, but wanted to make sure I knew stuff in case he needed to talk, and I wanted him to know I was cool with it. No big deal.” He shrugged, and Castiel knew he was staring again, but he couldn’t help it. “Cas? You in there?”

“Sex indifferent,” he blurted out, and Dean paused, blinked once.

“You lost me.”

“I’m not sex repulsed. Nor aromantic. Homoromantic, asexual, sex indifferent. Is how I identify. And if you are still interested, then… I would very much like to go on a date with you.” It was worth it, the heart pounding, for the nearly ear-to-ear grin that took over Dean’s face. “And it is a big deal,” he added, “to me.” When Dean shifted somewhat uncomfortably, it was his turn to smile, small as it was.

“Right.” Suddenly realizing he still had his hands on Cas’ arms, he dropped them to his sides, shifting again as if he could somehow shake off the abundance of feelings. It was oddly endearing, and he found himself grinning a bit more, which did not escape Dean’s attention. He held up a hand, opened his mouth as if to say something, and then shook his head. “Whatever. So. Next Friday. It’s a date?”

“It is,” he confirmed solemnly.

“Awesome,” a voice from several feet away confirmed, and both Castiel and Dean jumped, looking to the side to discover they had accumulated a small audience, all of whom were now looking back at them with varying grins and smirks. Meg, right near the front, managed to catch Castiel’s eye and send him a far too smug look, but he couldn’t even find it in himself to care. “So, are you two going to actually kiss, or can the rest of us go settle our bets and get back to our party now?” Balthazar asked, blowing a kiss at the end for good measure, only laughing when Jo elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, shut up,” Dean groused, scowling at all of them, but when he stepped forward to push through the crowd, he was doing so with a firm grip on Castiel’s hand, and he found he didn’t mind in the least.

Only when they had wound their way past everyone who had gathered and found a new, less populated area did Dean stop, and even when he did, he did not let go. “So, uh, actually, about that… when you say sex indifferent…”

Castiel watched him struggle with the words for a moment, smiling to himself, before taking pity. “This is fine,” he said, softly, giving Dean’s hand the slightest of squeezes, “and, although I do not have any prior experience, if you were to want to kiss me… I believe I would like that as well.”

“Awesome.”

(He wasn’t wrong. And it was.)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this piece came to mind as a short, standalone, one off of a much larger College Theatre AU... that has yet to be written. However, this seemed like a more achievable goal for Ace and Aro August. Good thing I chose this one, because given how much of a life of its own it took on, I have to imagine that the other piece would have been a third finished at most.
> 
> Title comes from Act IV, Scene 1 of "A Midsummer Night's Dream", as spoken by Oberon:  
> "Be as thou wast wont to be.  
> See as thou wast wont to see."


End file.
